I should be cleaning in preparation for Mom’s visit or pre-reading Jurassic Park for Jack or planning school for next week or sorting laundry. And I will do all those things today. And I’ll cook and do dishes and exercise. I love ticking things off a list and I love an organized house.
But for the past hour I’ve just been looking out the window at the clumps of snow blowing off the trees and listening to the sounds. The jays, the furnace, wind chimes, the boys…
They are squabbling good-naturedly over legos and making exploding sound effects as they “blow up” each other’s creations. Gosh, the years have gone fast.
We’ve been in our new area for over five years now. The kids have really grown up here. They are less like transplants and more like natives. Their accents have changed. Ah well, it’s been good. They have a freedom here they never could have had back home.
Me too. I have become strong and confident here. The space has given me room to grow in ways I was afraid to. But
truth?
I still feel like a stranger here. There’s a feeling of always having to explain myself. It’s not exactly homesickness. I don’t miss the noise, the lights, the crowds, the litter, the smells, the sadness. But sometimes I miss the energy, the common ground, and yes, the pizza.
Crazy. I didn’t move to Thailand, just a different part of my own home state. But it really does feel very different.
Breaking Ground 
That feeling of having to explain… reminds me of something:
“It does seem pleasant to talk with an old acquaintance who knows what you know. I see so many new folks nowadays who seem to have neither past nor future. Conversation has got to have some root in the past, or else you have to explain every remark you make, and it wears a person out.” – Sarah Orne Jewett (a south-east Mainer!)
I wish you friends that share some history. And happy new year!
Did I miss this comment? It is so apt!